


Everybody's bendable (A Larry Stylinson Fan fiction)

by Inkingbravery



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Depressed Harry, Depression, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-02
Updated: 2014-02-11
Packaged: 2017-12-31 05:45:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1027959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inkingbravery/pseuds/Inkingbravery
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry's one of those people, insecure, anxious, and depressed at the point he needs medical prescriptions. He doesn't trust on anyone, he can't. Everyone reaches their peak sometime and he just sends letters to an address chosen at random. The man behind the letters isn't that much behind  Harry, starting his day off with cigarettes and coffee in the mornings, "Everybody's bendable” Louis often says, but what happens when a boy like Harry has bend so much he just snapped?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Already Falling Apart

**Author's Note:**

> It's my first chaptered fic, actually. I hope you guys like it! Feedback would be ace. Oh! before I forget, I'm accepting prompts and stuff on my tumblr: www.marceldoeslouis.tumblr.com Enjoy x -A

**One:**

 

_There is a house build out of stone,wooden floors, walls, and window cells, tables and chairs worn by all of the dust...There is a place where I don't feel at home, This is a place where I feel at home..._

 

There are two types of people, when it comes to depression: The ones who have to talk about every single problem in their lives, ending up voluntarily at a psychologist and there are others who bottle up everything inside until they just can't take it all in any more. Harry is one of those people, who keeps everything inside and doesn't tell a soul. He's gone up to the point where the silence of his room and suffocating darkness are his only friends who are there to  _hear._  He mostly talks to himself, as well as he screams at himself for doing something wrong, or he simply cries himself asleep every night until the tears that fell from his pale cheeks wares him off a bit of the weight on his shoulders. You see, he's not one of those people who think that being depressed is something to be shared at with everyone he encounters, depression is a battle fought alone, you can win it or let it stab you with a knife slowly and tortuously. He's been to the doctor many times, mum's orders, and indeed he has a severe case of depression. He's been given pills which the medical personal thinks it'll do something, but he can just easily snort some cocaine and it does the same effect. 

 

Nothing. 

 

Harry's lost, very lost in an unwarily madness only he can understand and only he must know about. His mum Anne, worrisome woman she is, always checks on the boy with the curly hair and green eyes. Harry always finds some inner strength to smile sullenly and say that the pills are working, all though he never sees the difference. That's just how his life went on a daily basis. He's a really melancholy boy since he was very little, with the divorce of his father by unknown reasons- still, Harry had superstitions- and  the passing away of his sister Gemma. She used to be the only person there for him, now that she's gone, there's no one else in this little town of Holmes Chapel, Cheshire to help but the sinful person that is himself. 

 

“The devil has used me, for his work” He would say to the psychologist, which they always gave him weird looks at the statement. He always thought nothing this bad and sudden came from a god like God himself, but from the underworld's devil. Whom only feast in human fears and pain; he considered himself-therefore- used by the unholy spirit. 

 

Then again, he always believed that religions where a form of idea that is used to control the masses, people are so afraid of death, when, if you think of it, is a peaceful new life of eternal slumber. There are such things that gave the boy of nine-teen years old curiosity, and somehow curiosity is what has kept him alive all these years, the curiosity of knowing if there is a way he'll ever get out of this horrible pain or will he just die this same way, alone and with an empty, dark heart full of numb emotions. 

 

_And now I've built a home for you, for me, then why did you disappear from me, when was it time for me to live? The time has passed, the endless counting of days has been done in vain..._

 

Even though Harry thinks he's alone, he's always had people who are willing to help him, he just can't trust anybody. He deals this weight on his scrawny shoulders alone like a person trying to survive in a dessert full of unknown creatures and extreme heat, without the resources.  

 

“Harry, are you sure you're pills working alright?” Anne, his mum inquired at the boy who was too tired to form a coherent answer, but still he did. 

 

“They are, I've forgot to take them, I suppose” 

 

“Harry...” his mum shot out of her chair and looked all vexed at his own son, on the inside all she could feel was pain, as if Harry could radiate those sort of emotions to other people, “I care about you, Harry and those pills were working! Then all of a sudden you're so serene enough to tell me you've forgotten to take them?” 

 

“Mum, 's al right, I'll go an-” His mother wasn't quite finished. 

 

“Do you even care about what you're going through? I mean from the looks of it, it quite right doesn't look like it. Now you listen carefully Dad may have done all those things but it's in the past now, and Gemma...” 

 

“Don't mention her name, please.” 

 

His mum didn't understand, nobody did, nobody  _could._ She kept on the untouched conversation for months, years now. She just had to take it off her chest to somebody, she just chose the most horrible person to take it out with. 

 

“Gemma, your sister, she passed away like one year ago? More? And why was that? You were drunk one day with your friends and decided to drive. What a coincidence then that just as she was crossing the street to get to our flat you ran over her.” 

 

Harry couldn't take it anymore, “Mum, I told you not to mention her name!” he was shouting now, tears of anger and solemn guilt were streaming down his face. 

 

“Don't you talk to me like that, I'm your mother! Gemma was my child, your sister, don't you think I miss her?” The man of nineteen couldn't take it in much longer before grabbing his plate and smashing it to the floor. The noise that echoed was blood curling, his mum was the next one to gasp when she saw the teenager's  left hand. All cut up and filled with crimson liquid, he closed his eyes shut, feeling the pain, adrenaline coursing through his veins in a silent, mysterious manner, he just let the blood trickle onto his bare feet. He started to cry now- the pain had intensified and the feeling of guilt he had now was overwhelming. His mum came closer to him and he could feel her inches away. He just glared at her, pulling his hand to his chest, wanting it unattended. 

“You think I can bear with the idea of killing my own sister?” his mother was silent, processing every word, “The pills weren't working! They still aren't! I drink them for your fucking sake mother!” 

 

What he said next, he said in an almost inaudible whisper. 

 

“You don't see me as your son do you? You see me as the killer who assassinated the person I-you- loved the most! You see me as the killer! The killer...” Harry's face was flushed by the crying it had taken place, he quickly walked into his room and shut the door with the only available hand he had, making the door frame shake. 

 

“I  _am_ the killer” he said staring at his hands, he never was the killer. Just a lost boy who's bad decisions in life made his own mother see him a different way. He just needed to do to something soon. He was reaching his peak, he's going to explode, explode in such a dangerous way that he could become the killer once again, of himself. 

 

_Out in the garden where we planted a seed, there is a tree as old as me, by the cracks of his skin I climbed to the top, I climbed the tree to see the world...the wind came around to knock me down, I held on tight but still began to fall.._

 

The nights was the most dreadful moment of his day, it meant another day with the monotonous self guilt and sadness all over again. Just to make it even better the past occurred events with his own mum helped him a whole lot. 

 

 _Now my own mum thinks I'm the killer,_ he thought to himself over and over. He just couldn't bear it anymore. His sore hand was all wrapped up with a thin medical cloth and gauzes to keep the low bank of blood in his hand stop from pouring out. He surprisingly liked the pain, but he can't bare to cut his milky white skin (just the thought of screwing up somebody else made him feel like a monster, even if that somebody was him). He has dreamt about those darken thought, he rarely dreams, and when he does it's mostly past mementos ready to haunt him. Harry Edward Styles, a boy who's broken, nowhere else to go, felt the need to end the vomiting sensation on the low pit of his stomach. His stomach was used to the low food it received, Harry almost never had appetite. Sometimes he didn't bother to eat, let alone head out of his bed. 

 

He stared blankly at his hand, the outer cloth gaining a pink tinge because of the blood which was still trying to find a way out of his system. He had to prevent it though, the curiosity was too much, and he silently was greatfull for curiosity. This phenomenon, curiosity, is a tedious thing, alas it can lead both ways. To the regretful path of death or the eventful path of happiness and despair. 

 

Then he heard it, those voices in his mind. The mementos he would wish to forget, they always follow him, never leave him at peace. He heard the crash of the car towards the beloved body and the splashing crystals that made contact with the floor, million by millions. Harry started crying, his silent cries, shaking now he grabbed, with both hands, his head on each of his sides. He covered his ears, the thing is, since it was all happening inside his head he couldn't keep those noises away from him. 

 

_His sister scram and scram, her collapsed lungs giving out each pump it could muster like a soldier at battle. “Help!” she shouted her voice cracking everytime. Harry rushed out of the car and looked for the collapsed body, just when he saw her eyes he began to cry, silently like he always did, he became instantly sober at the bitter image that faced him. “Gem-Gemma you'll be alright!” He started to shake but still kept strong at his older sister, “You'll be okay! You're fine!” He rested his head on her chest and she just put her weak hands in his head and stroked his hair. With all her strengths. “Can somebody call nine-one-one?! He was desperate for the saving of his eldest sister. Somebody did and the ambulance could already be heard from a far in less than twenty minutes. “Harry...I'm dying..” She said breathless and shut her eyes in everlasting pain._

_“You aren-.”_

 

_“I can feel it, I love you, you are the best brother I could ever have. I guess it was..meant...to be. You'll be alright, you little scamp. You'll be just...” Her head collapsed to the side and her hands weakened, falling to the side like feeble, thin strings. “Gemma!!” Harry was feverishly screaming, and crying. He was left alone, all this time, his friends stood there, unmoving. “I'll do you justice! I will do you justice!” He was pulled away by two stout paramedics while he was desperately squirming, the men wouldn't budge._

 

_Then as he saw his own sister, dead, driving away towards the hospital...he realised the only justice he had to do to the person who caused this was himself. His own, sinful self._

 

Harry let out a scream of utter agony as the memory flooded back, he swore he saw that again and again. He couldn't take it as it played in his mind as a repetitive movie clip. He cried in a corner of his room, lights all turned off and the darkness betraying him, turning ravishly to his enemy and began suffocating him. Darkness often did this, betray the broken boy. That's what darkness does, he plays all innocent and feeble and then when it's put to work it never disobeys, instead it blackmails you, using all he knows about you. Fears, weaknesses, and almost everything that'll make you insane. He couldn't take it anymore, he never could, take it all in, since the first time he stopped smiling to the very first time he rarely spoke to anybody. He couldn't. Oh, and it was not his decision to choose to be like this, it was the devil's work, using him and breaking his soul piece by piece, until he can't muster no more. 

 

 

_I've built a home for me, for you, then why did you disappeared from me? When was it my last time to live? I have lost it again, because the only one that kept me sane, was gone and I was now on my own..._

 


	2. It's such a beautiful name; he couldn't help it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, here's chapter two! Hope you guys like it. -A x

**Two:**

 

These past few weeks were very different from other weeks, according to Harry. He felt numb, and that numbness felt good. He didn't feel any pain- nor he did happiness- but he was okay, and okay is good right? Don't get him wrong those memories in his mind, those irreplaceable memories still haunted him, as a result he hasn't had a proper eight hour sleep in more than a month now. 

 

“Goddammit, where is it?” Harry's hand was halfway cured, the cuts were better and lucky for him they never got infected. Lately the boy with the curls has been looking for something, that something being a mystery to everyone but him. He's asked his mum, but nothing. He's searching throughout the attic to see if there was the object he was looking for. 

 

It was a phone book, more or less, (It's mostly an address book) and he successfully found it- after half an hour, that is. It looked quaint, as if it been in the family for centuries, like one of those lockets a great-grandmother passes on to her great-granddaughter, and then she passes it to her daughter and so on. It had a scripture of somebody who was unknown- for Harry. To be more precise it didn't even look like it would come from the Styles' family line. 

 

He still opened it. 

 

Even when he was a little child he would often get bullied at his elementary school, he would never tell on those already pimply, greasy haired boys. He preferred to deal with that on his own, the thing is that it would rarely work that way or it just didn't. He would cry in his spaceship comforter with his teddy bear clutched real close to his toddler frame. Harry holds it all in, and when he is in a vulnerable state, he needs to let it out, as painful as it could be he just had to. 

 

He writes. Others may go to psychologists, let alone talk to a member of their family, or even worse, a  _close_  friend. This boy in particular didn't have any of that, he tried and tried but when he felt at least a bit happy around someone he realises he felt even more alone than he was before. And loneliness, it's an emotion that everybody has, some people find the company to deal with it, others, turn it into an intensity of  pain that it's indescribable. Harry Styles, he used to be happy once, but those times have passed and are now long gone. All he has now is depression, sleepless nights and darkness, his betraying friend. Silence, was one of the things Harry loved the most, nothing could trouble him because silence meant motionless, silence means peace, kind of like death. 

 

As he flipped pages full of unknown addresses he found five in particular which could work for him, very well. He needed an address several towns away, and a name that would catch his eye, names said everything about a person sometimes, and since he was basically selling out his whole life to somebody unknown...who knows what could happen. Harry still needed to do this, it was the only way to flush all of those guilty feelings temporarily. Sometimes it feels like depression is a never ending cycle that when you think you stopped it, it just pulls you back in and turns everything   more unbearable than you could ever imagine. All those books wrote by people who  _got out of depression_  is a bunch of bullshit. Go to their house and see if their not reminiscing their saddening memories in a corner. 

 

He had chosen two out of five addresses now, this time it was harder because something about both addresses radiated something he needed, reassurance. Everyone needs reassurance that everything would be alright; hope can last so little. Once in a while you need to be told by someone so important to you that no matter what everything would be okay. Harry's reassurance came from nowhere, except the silence. Oh that thing, silence, was so dear to Harry it reassured him that he would never come out of where he now stands. You don't understand silence, it needs company, and that silence it's a negative thing who doesn't help you get out of it, instead it pulls you down even further drowning you in a turbulent sea. Nobody wants to be alone, not even the silence, not even that.  

 

_Melissa P. Trenchwood, 34th Mercury Street,_

_Glassglow, Glassglow City GS7 8 H8_

 

_Louis W. Tomlinson,_ _163 franklin house,_

_Bennethope Doncaster, South Yorkshire DN2 6AH_

 

At this point Harry didn't know which one to choose- although he knew the answer, he was still debating on the whole idea if he should really open up his darkened life to a complete stranger. It was like instantly confessing to the one you love right after the first date, it would be worse than that. He just hoped that who ever he chooses isn't a writer or he'll take advantage of a hurting boy in need of solemn help. 

 

“Louis W. Tomlinson.” the only name that said and almost scram for Harry's attention was Louis. It was such a beautiful name. He couldn't help it. It was a lot of towns away so it didn't mind the lad's mind. 

 

Harry didn't know what he was getting himself into, you see Louis Tomlinson has a very different story from his. Louis William Tomlinson, twenty-one, lives alone in a battered apartment and starts every productive morning with cigarettes and sweet vanilla-flavoured coffee. He lives his life (sometimes), to the fullest but you could say he's living his life awry wrong in one part. He isn't the type of people who has a packed agenda with a group of friends, or the type of person who goes out to a pub almost every night and finds a different guy to get inside his pants. No. He just strolled through his beloved city of Doncaster at nights cigarette lit and already incinerating into ashes. He lived a pretty lonley life, even though he's always had a big family. 

"Yeah, mum smoking  _is_  wrong...that's why I don't do it- I know but I like to smoke- like I said I don't do it infront of the girl- they overheard me on the phone..." Louis' mum was the type of woman who could talk and talk throughout a whole week. 

Literally. 

So Louis liked to smoke, it's not like it was something worse like smoking weed (although he wouldn't mind once or twice) he had to show his sisters how good of a role model his big brother is. There's Georgia, the twins Daisy and Pheobe, Felicity and Lottie, oh how much he loved those girls...

It might sound a bit absurd to be the only boy in the Tomlinson house hold but it was so, and he wouldn't change a thing about it. After a few more bickering and vain promises to stop bringing lighters in his pockets where the twins could reach, he got out of the couch. That couch was light brown- at least that's the colour that resembled now- some of the springs jutting out and oh how many times has he taken it to get fixed! 

Actually none, he didn't care about the couch, he liked the couch with the different stains and whirly springs. He liked his couch, it was the only thing he looked forward in a day as stressful as the ones that passed. His apartment was old but still livable, wallpapered walls which where pealing out and such. 

He grabbed his keys and checked himself in the mirror, the mop of brunette hair adorning his tanned face; he rarely goes to the beach yet he's surprised he isn't as pale as a vampire.  

The phone rang, the boy grimaced. 

He picked it up, "What now?"

"Make sure to bring oreo cookies! Mummy said we couldn't have any but she's coming late tonight!" Pheobe blarred through the celphone's speakers. That girl was the most who had of Louis' personality, a beautiful little swindler who'se only purpose for now is to break simple rules. 

Louis chuckled, " 'aight, you got my attention. Who can say no to those delicacies?" 

Pheobe squealed of happiness, and told her twin sister in a whisper, she didn't take the phone from the side of her face and Louis could hear the whole conversation of how "Louis is going to bring us cookies!" and "He's gonna get in so much trouble!" 

He loved those girls so much, a little spoiling wouldn't hurt. 

-

Pen and paper in hand and Harry still didn't know how to compose the dreadful letter. It was easy to say in his inner concience but writting it to a complete stranger was very different.  _  
_

_How will I tell this stranger that I am a depressed young brother who killed her sister by accident? How am I going to tell him that the idea of death itself wouldn't be so awful after all? How am I going to tell him that the purpose of writing this is because I can't trust on anyone, not even the single person who has raised me since birth? How am I going to tell this stranger that I am completely alone?_

Those questions were lingering on Harry's mind; that day he spent it in his room, reminicing and analizyng a good way to not sound like an accidental serial killer or not to sound like a complete attention seeker. Thankfully, Anne was out running some errands that needed to be done. Harry loved his mother, of course. Just the amount of favouritism she had with Gemma is still noticeable in the way she talks about her and the way she compares her to the nineteen year old. 

Then suddently his hand started to write jutting down the words that never processed through his mind but they did through his heart. Harry was pouring everyhing he could on a simple sheet of paper. 

_Dear Louis W. Tomlinson,_

_I'm Harry, 19, Holmes Chapel, Chesire and I'm very fucked up. It may be straight to the point but that's what my biography has come to, depression has caught me in it's nets and I'm strugling to get out. It feels like everytime I try and untie one of the knots holding it all together it just ends up getting me trapped even more than I was before. You could say "Who the hell is he?" or "What the hell is he talking about?," any other hell you want to add on there. Just let me tell you Louis W. Tomlinson I needed an outlet and I chose you. I went over a hundred addresses and I still chose you. Right now, I'm about to tell you what my life is about, and hopefully you'll never read this and use it as heat on your house/apartment when you chuck it to the fireplace to burn. Maybe that's a good thing, letting the unspoken words be left unspoken and the bold, daunting words come to life. I chose you Louis W. Tomlinson, I don't know why but my heart said to choose you._

_All I have is a broken heart though, and words that are still clinging to my mouth that I should've said but never did. You don't know how bad it is to not have the own will to do anything but let the haunted memories and their screaching noises drown you in sorrow. I had a nice sister Gemma, she was the most beautiful person I have ever seen, so nice and good person to tell anything you needed to._

_I killed her, and right now, my hands can't stop shaking; I can't let the tears wet the page because I would have yet again, ruined something for my own greater good._

_I was drunk, and driving. I was eighteen at the time- not so long ago and it's still sore, and it will be, unless I see my sister walk through that door alive once more. My friends were nice blokes and we were having a bit of fun. Since I was the one who drank less than the others I drove. I wasn't sober enough. Eating all the red lights and moving side to side in a rocking motion on the street. That cold chilly night was full of drakness and surreptiousness, like telling you by a close whisper that something would be soon to happen. Just as I was getting closer and closer to the flat someone or something- at that time my eyesight grew fuzzy. It hit the car; when I got out the blood in my face instantly was  drained, I was so pale and the tears almost ran out. I can remember how my sister died. Every single thing that happened, that horrible night._

_She died smiling like the last person she wanted to see when she ceased was her little bro, as she would call me. She died with these words floating in the air: Darling, you'll- and then she left me. My lungs felt like they collapsed and I was breathing nothing, I just lay there my ear pressed against Gemma's heart and I slowly heard it beat with less eagerness, or adrenaline. What amazed me was that she died with so much peace, as if she was preparing to die a few days ago. Her heart stopped and all I could do was sob like a little boy curled up against her. The blood pooling around her was hot and I couldn't care less. They practically pried her off me and I couldn't even see her anymore since then. All I have are the beaten down memories of Gemma and I which I always try and make the best of them. I ended up in the same fetal position as I did when she died, and I swore to make justice to the person that killed her when I realised who it was._

_Me._

_Since then, the guilt that has engulfed me is apalling, to the point where I've even thought of suicide. No, I'm not planning to kill myself or making this letter while plotting for such a devilish matter. You know what? Curiosity. Everytime a Doctor tells me why am I even still alive- which is weird, because for a Doctor, you would say, don't appreciate when people suicide themselves just because of depression- all I tell them is that it's curiosity, what's kept me alive is curiosity._

_I dunno, how to surpress some memories inside my head sometimes that make me want to grab a knife and slit is across my throat. I've never been a happy child with a perfect life, not since I had the capability to reason. It's like being in a cold white room, no windows, no doors and you're sitting right there in the hardened floor. Waiting being the only thing that you can do; each time you try to move the white walls get in closer and closer and you're left suffocating. You don't want to move, because then that implyed death, so you just sit there hopeless._

_That's what I am, hopeless and vulnerable._

_I had a dream once, Louis W. Tomlinson, It was about everyone I cared about. They all seemed happy and jovial, and me, I was full of surprisement, happiness and any other happy emotion the human mind has let us achieve. They were very distant, in a big green grassed clearing-laughing, Gemma dancing with our father- they looked whole. Truly, a whole family that hasn't spent a single day apart. As I went running towards them, my smile was growing broader and broader, my muscles eased from the previous tention and my heart beating a mile a minute. Then I got so close, so so close, and their eyes grew in sadness, fear or anger. At the time I couldn't tell nor now I can remember. My mum- Anne, her name's Anne- started to scream nasty things a woman would say to a pile of rubbish, not to her son. My dad hit me so many times and Gemma... Gemma just stood back and watched, tears streaming down her face. Then I woke up, hugged my knees close to my chest and sobbed. I sobbed so hard that day, I don't remember doing anything else._

_At this point, I don't know what to feel, I don't know what to do or where to go. I dunno how to cry anymore, I'm so broken inside I feel the dangling pieces of my heart hanging in only but a single thread. I feel my subconcience being replace by something even more horrible than myself. I dunno what I should do. I just want my sister back, I just want her._

_And, I dunno if choosing you was the best decision I could ever make, but have this very clear Louis W. Tomlinson, I chose you for a reason. I need you. I trust you._

_-Harry_

And that night, let's just say that even though he cried and cried, he had a proper eight hour sleep.


	3. "Hope keeps me going."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOD, I UPDATED SO LATE. I'm so sorry about that, but with school, family, thanksgiving and stuff. I wasn't able to write much. Plus, my computer's broken so I guess it's not even that. Anyways, here you go, Chapter 4. Should I title each chapter or...? I mean it'd be so awesome, but I dunno. Hehe. 
> 
> Thanks for the kudos and comments, or just reading my fanfiction, it makes me beyond happy. I love you, my lovelies. I'll shut up now so you can read. Enjoy, loves! -Allie.

**Chapter Three:**  
  
 _"I remember when I used to laugh at everything, had those fits of laughter with friends, and go out and hang like normal eighteen year olds should do. Then it felt like all the choices my mind decided to make: college, a profession, a family-everything- were voluntarily deleted and left with useless thoughts of the broken."  
  
_ His long sighs, hooded eyes and warm tears trickling down his face are things almost normal to the boy with the green, translucent eyes. It was like he lost the feeling of having a happy life. Now it's like even though he tries and brushes off everything that passes through his mind, for him, it's too much to bear. He leaves the weight on his shoulders, walking with a disgrace on his backside and lump in his throat.   
  
 _"I wish I could replay those times, when I used to play with her, or when she would braid my hair and even put makeup on me just to make fun of me. I even miss the musses of hair she gave me, which I still hate but love because their hers. I just have her in my conscience and I hate it. I want to hug her skinny smaller frame, I want to kiss her on the cheek and tell her pointless jokes to hear her snort because I know how flustered it gets her. I want her back... I want her back."_  
  
His little world of loneliness, he feels comfortable in it; he closes his eyes and he's transported to a prairie full of daises and other exotic flowers, tall grass that heightened over to his ankles and an expectacular view. He was always alone there, no one to talk to, no one to love there anymore, either. Harry's love is sickening and evil now, he's lost the power to love and he can't seem to remember the last hug he gave somebody.   
  
That long.   
  
Something has changed on his prairie, he's been thinking about that letter, that letter that-effectively- relieved him temporarily. He's been imagining how Louis W. Tomlinson would be like, he imagined him to be the most beautiful man he's ever seen, ever. He thinks about him a lot. He hasn't seen him, but he feels a certain connection; that hasn't happened in a while.   
  
 _"I just can't let her go, you know? I can't. Picture this, there's this flame and it's burning out, something so precious to you-that flame- and it's the only thing that matters to you. When it just burns out without you even knowing, you lost everything that was precious to you. When you know what caused the flame to turn into nothing but atoms in the sky, and that cause was you...how would you feel like? Like killing yourself, like nothing else is more important to you but that jumble of gases mixed up together to form something you adored and...my flame's gone."_  
  
He's been quite skeptical these days; Louis W. Tomlinson hadn't send a letter in reply or anything (truth is, Harry wanted to get a letter back) his eagerness has been dropping by the second. He just lays in his bed and gives the daily three block walk to the post office. Everytime he went, nothing.   
  
Oh, how he wanted Louis W. Tomlinson to answer back, how much did he want him to do so.   
  
"I don't feel like eating mum, thanks but no" His mum always there for him, he also felt bad he wasn't there back. He didn't want to screw up again, the only solution was to get himself marginated from his family to protect them.  
  
"Harry..." She sat down next to her son and scooted all the way next to him, he was sitting down on his bed; he's had it since he could remember. His room was something interesting to look at. He has all these posters of his favourite or, once favourite bands tightly hung to his walls. He has this camera, he used to take pictures of everything, and all of them were covering half of a wall. Pictures of everything, everyone.   
  
 _"I-I don't want to think that sometimes- like I just wish I was a normal nineteen year old. I'm just the one in a million that has a horrible life. I'm a murderer, there I said it. I consider myself a killer...and in my own family. Why am I even telling this to you? I don't even know you! I don't..you're just a stranger. I just want to go away, to my own little prairie..is that so much to a- of course it is."_  
  
"Mum, 'm fine really," The most common lie, is the one that is repeated by everyone through logic, not even thinking about it, they just say it to mask all their feelings and ripping their heart and mind piece by piece.   
  
"No, Harry I know what you're going through, it's not easy, I know..but honey sometimes you need to let everything out and you know I'm here, yeah?"  _Louis W. Tomlinson's reading my letter I just have to give him some time, I know he'll answer back, he will!_  His mind was screaming those words over and over again, one by one.   
  
"I-" Then, the most unexpected thing happened to the boy with the indent curls and pale white skin, he bursted out crying. His body told him he couldn't stay holding it all in, even though he was begging his mind to not send the electrical shock messages to his tear ducts. He couldn't cry in front of his mum. But he did.   
  
"Sh, Harry it's okay. It's not easy..sh" Anne crooning her little Harry was something she didn't do in years, merely touch him. He was so scared, so scared that if he touched the slightest petal of a white daisy, it would wilt and die. He was scared of the things he did in the past and he's not going to let go until he knows he can.   
  
Never again.   
  
"Mum..." He was breathing unevenly due to the quiet sobs he was making, hugging his mum's waist as tightly as he could between sobs, "I-I just want he-her back!"   
  
He scram now, and sobbed. He couldn't keep it in, not even the singing of his mum's voice could cheer him up this time. Anne was suddenly engulfed in panic. Never she had seen his son act so broken as he was now. Showing your true colours is so hard to do, specially when none of them are colourful like pastels or bright spring colours. She stayed there, none the less, how could she leave after seeing her son react so heavily to the thoughts in his mind?   
  
Harry calmed down, after what seemed like an agonising hour.   
  
"Harry, I love you so so so much, you know that?"   
  
"I suppose."   
  
"And I know I should be a better mum to you now, I just didn't know. I didn't understand the situation you were in."   
  
"No one does, mum." Anne reached out for Harry's cheek and he made no attempt to move, she wiped her son's tears and smiled warmly at him. He just smiled lopsidedly, a half-hearten smile. She understood that too.   
  
In the nineteen year old's head, he kept saying to his mum, even though he knew she couldn't hear him;  _No one can._  
  
 _"Who's Louis W. Tomlinson? He's a guy I've never met, and I just can't seem to call him just by his first name until he answers back, meaning I'm allowed to send back again. That is, if he doesn't answer at all. I just imagine the most beautiful boy I could ever lay eyes onto, his name for starters. It's a Gre- no it's originated from France. Such a beautiful name for such a man, a man who lives in Doncaster with who knows what, doing god knows what. I just feel like If I can trust him, I can literally get out of my depression. But not quite. It's still digging me deeper, and if he never answers-which could be a big possibility- I'll reach a level of insanity I would wish never to achieve. Ever. Insanity is something so horribly complicated. Just thinking that such a phenomenon can grant you that for not answering a heart-meant letter, is something 'aight"_  
  
"Louis, we'll miss you! We'll miss you loads! When are you coming back?"   
  
"Soon, I promise" He reassured the little six year old, Daisy, her face still littered with Oreo cookie crumbs. Their Mum was down in the kitchen. He was putting his sisters to bed, first Daisy, then Pheobe. "Love, you have some Oreo crumbs in your face. Did you brush your teeth like I asked you to?"   
  
Her cheeks flushed and she shook her head, she was just like Pheobe, a little scamp. Louis winked at her and cleaned her mouth with the tip of his thumb.   
  
"I'll let it slide this time, princess." He kissed her goodnight as she giggled, and she whispered a "bye bye, Lou" before closing her heavy eyes.   
  
"Louis! I'm still awake, kiss me goodnight, please?" Pheobe, if she didn't get a goodnight kiss she thought a monster would emerge from under her bed and take her away. It was a protection shield from icky bed monsters, according to her. Felicity may have had something to do with scaring her like that. That's what siblings are there for, after all.  
  
"I wasn't going to forget you, Pheobe. Now, with my powerful goodnight kiss no bed monster will come for you for the next month" He smiled bending down to her forehead and pressing his lips to her skin, kissing it gently. He continued, "Mummy's kisses are more powerful than mine, though."  
  
Then the big-eyed little girl, suddenly pulled Louis into a hug, he almost stumbled, crushing her but he used his hands to hold himself steady. When he gained balance, he moved his arms around his little sister's waist and whispered an "I love you, so, so much." When he eventually pulled away and headed for the door. Giving one last glance before smiling and closing it.   
  
 _"I'm getting quite uncomfortable with all this...fine, I'm just doing this for my mum's sake. Her name was Gemma, She was twenty three. I loved her so much, still do, my mum loved her very much and sometimes she loves her too much. I think I love her too much too, sometimes that is; everybody loves Gemma, yet, I feel like nobody loves me."_  
  
Louis went down stairs, making sure he stepped on each step before reaching the living room and kitchen. His mum was there back facing the boy, and she sighed heavily.   
  
"Mum? I'm leaving, yeah?" heading for the door she stopped him. "There it goes again..." He barely whispered to himself. It hasn't been the first time.   
  
"Louis, if you disrespect my rules do you think the girls will respect me as the responsible figure in this house?"   
  
"Did I do somethin' wrong?" He didn't recall, unless she saw the box of empty Oreo cookies in the bin. She was rarely this mad, Jay was a sweet person. She was the kind of mum that would never raise her voice at one of her children unless it was really necessary.   
  
"You bought them something I strictly said they couldn't have today. They begged for those cookies, and I told 'em no because they've eaten too much already" She grew closer, he recoiled back. Louis wasn't feeling the least bit good at all.  
  
"They  _are_  just cookies, after all.."   
  
"What, then it'll be just one cigarette, after all?" That wasn't the least bit nice, to him nor his sisters. How annoyed Louis was at this point. He was fuming.   
  
Louis wasn't the perfect son, never. Maybe at first because she had only one son-him- and the fact that he was little and cute. As he grew older he had new sisters and he was, each time, excluded a little more from his own mother.   
  
He still remembers the time he confessed his sexual orientation, she didn't take it quite well. He was just eighteen years old when he told her, never sure when all of this liking boys thing came out of originally. They were in the living room, all the girls asleep.   
  
"Mum, I need to tell you something."   
  
"Is it important? I'm talking to someone." She was always on her phone, those little times she could spend it with her older son. Excluded more, even further, to the edge.   
  
"I-it has to do with me..." Louis was already growing anxious, palms were sweaty and he was unable to stay still on his seat.   
  
"Oh really?" Jay said, the most sarcastic voice she could muster, Louis, used to it "What is it now?"   
  
"I'm...uh.."   
  
"Cut to the chase, boy!" She shouted as she whispered a 'call you later' to her irrelevant friend.   
  
"I'm gay!" He blurted out, he was so afraid as the colour adverted from his mum's rosy cheeks. He was maybe a little bit more pale than his mum was.   
  
"So you're gay?"   
  
Louis nodded, he couldn't feel his legs now. If he had to run upstairs before she did anything stupid was merely impossible. His mind was clogged with horrendous ideas on how her reaction might take course.   
  
He was scared as hell.   
  
"You're telling me, that one day I'll have a boy coming here into your room-while the girls are here?"   
  
"I'll make it work! No boy has to come over necessarily..."   
  
"I'm not going to tolerate this! Louis William Tomlinson, when did this all start?" She was angry. Why? Because her son just confessed, her least favourite son.   
  
"Uh...maybe one year ago?"  
  
"One bloody year ago?" She shouted, loud enough for him to hear but soft enough to not wake up any of the others.   
  
"I-I didn't know how to tell-"   
  
She smiled in disbelief, "My son, being gay...My son. From all the people my son has to be a fucking prick like those."   
  
"Their not pricks!" She widened her eyes at his son's sudden outburst, "Maybe you're the fucking prick."   
  
And there it happened.   
  
"Don't you dare say that to your own mum. Ever." Louis had never been slapped before, he never wanted to be.   
  
"I can't believe you would...honestly.."   
  
"You deserved it..."   
  
He didn't know what to do or say, he was still shocked, as ever. He wanted to leave, he never wanted to come back. His mum already knew what she'd done and she was already begging for pardon through her eyes. You see, she never showed concern over him, but now that he's different she's all over him.   
  
He's fucking tired of that.   
  
Louis stared at her and just turned his back towards her, his right hand holding his left cheek, walked upstairs and closed the door shut making the door frame rattle.   
  
"My mum slapped me..." He hissed a bit when he added a little pressure. Louis went up to his bathroom mirror and tilted his head. Evidently, a nice hand marked bruise was indent in his tanned cheek.   
  
After that, he knew he had to go, as far as he could.   
  
**   
  
"Louis?" Daisy whispered from the top of the staircase, "Lou, why was there screaming down here?"   
  
He snapped his neck so fast to that direction it cringed. He rubbed it gently before hurrying upstairs to the little six year old.   
  
"It's all 'aight, Daisy" he sighed as quietly as he could, "Just mummy with her wacky telly shows."   
  
She giggled quietly, like a little chirp of a blue bird, "Funny, it sounded like your voice, Lou."   
  
"I guess you were dreaming of me, yeah?"   
  
"You were my knight in shinning armour."   
  
"Really?"   
  
"No" she giggled even louder, gaining a quiet hush from him.   
  
"Now, go to bed, I told mum to lower the volume. Night, sis."   
  
"Bye, bye"   
  
That's the only reason he goes there, that's the only reason he'd stayed in Doncaster; his sisters.   
  
"Bye, Jay"   
  
"Bye, Louis" he headed out the door, closing it shut. As he grimaced in wrath, Daisy woke up to their fighting, it was going too far, Louis only wanted what was best for her sisters.   
  
After all, they are the only reason.   
  
 _"I have these voices in my head, but it's not my sub-conscience. It's the devil, I can tell. It somehow had the power to mimic my own voice, and it's horrifying, because it's not me, right? It tells me all the stuff that either makes me go crazy or provoked a paroxysm in front of my own Mum. I try to take them out of my mind, but my heart keeps them locked up. My heart's just full of sorrow; an empty stone filled with sorrow."_  
  
Cigarette in hand went Louis down the street, he'd rarely visit the post office around this time, but he'd forgotten to do so a few days back. He got there and fumbled for the keys to his little cubicle, he never gets valuable mail, just rubbish. Most of the time.   
  
This quiet, mysterious night was very different and to the man's surprise there was a white envelope with a neatly sloppy handwriting adorning the front.   
  
It was for him. By this bloke...   
  
"Harry E. Styles?" He was analytic about it, he has never met a Styles before. He always remembers people, so this was new.   
  
When he got to his apartment- which he never considers it a flat- he opened the envelope with a knife, being careful not to rip it apart.   
  
"Maybe it's not for me? Well, it does have my address. No, but nobody- there can be a first time for everything..." He read the first part of the letter, the colour of his face instantly drained. He was so terrified of what he just read he couldn't even read anymore.   
  
It wasn't because of all the dreadful things it contained, but the backstory of this nineteen year old, he had it worse. Suddenly Louis felt with the need to keep on reading, urging his mind to capture every word one by one.   
  
He didn't know Harry Styles, not even met him before. He just needed an outlet, and he chose him. Louis had this sudden weight on his shoulders now, from all people he chose him; a no good boy of twenty-one who plays the piano once in a while, the twenty-one year old that has no purpose in life, and lives a lonely life with his books and cigarettes. Why him? Why?   
  
"Why me, Harry?" He sighed, he has  
never felt so depressed by someone else before "Harry, what a grave mistake you've done."   
  
Despite that, Louis sat down and wrote, he needed to answer back. This boy depended on him, like no one has before. He can't just let him down, for once someone needs him, and he can't let this boy lose the opportunity to live a buoyant life.   
  
"Harry... 'S a pretty name"   
  
 _"All I want is for him to answer back-Doctor, can I leave now? I need to go and do the daily trip to the post office. I believe in him- I need him. Hope keeps me going. I just need him to answer, I just do..."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comment, kudos, or just pop by my ask box on my tumblr and leave me feedback there too, if you'd like, yeah? I'll love you to death. (www.marceldoeslouis.tumblr.com) :D


	4. Cubicle three-hundred and nine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy! c:

The room was cold, but not as cold to wake up a certain twenty-one year old man sound asleep in the desk. The curtains are too thin to keep the crushing rays of the morning sun out of the room, Louis is bloody tired. To him, every bit was worth it, considering that he was up all night writing a letter for Harry. Still, he ignored the dim lighting in the room, it getting colder and colder as the whisps of freezing air ran up through Louis' spine, making his body pocket in goosebumps. With a low groan he woke up. The little cramped chair wasn't helpful at all, as it caused pain at Louis' back when he sat, lazily, straight up. 

 

He quickly looked at his surroundings, trying to remember whatever he did wasn't a dream, effectively not as he grabbed the small stack of papers with cold hands. He folded them neatly in a rectangle and inserted them carefully on the envelope. For some reason, he already knew Harry's address half way through. When he got ready, all freshened up and pack of cigarettes in his pocket, he headed out for the door. It was surprsingly cold for the start of November. 

 

*

 

It was mainly hard for him to write the letter in the most thoughtful way of saying things that could mean so much to him but to Harry so little. He still wrote and wrote, he got frustrated at some point and started from the beginning, that night he remembered how hard it was to write a letter. He didn't talk much to himself that night either, scared that he could get easily confused with the pen and have to start all over again. He wanted to do all of this, he wanted to go through the frustrations, modesty, and emotions to write him a letter. Nobody needed Louis as much as Harry said he did. For long hours he wrote, each word bringing him a new insecurity at how the other man will take it, he was always like that when it came to talking to anybody, even worse, writing to somebody. He was scared that the other person would take it the wrong way, and he'd lose someone he once loved, just for a miscommunication. 

 

*

 

Louis took a big drag of his cigarette, half way through it, already thinking about another. He reached the post office, went in and throwed the envelope in the delivery bin, he opened his mouth slightly to let the puff of nicotine straight out.

 

He didn't know how long it'll take for it to get to the address written in the middle of the envelope, but he just hoped it wouldn't be long, he needed that letter to get there. The man with the intoxicated lungs turned around and left, just like that, leaving the letter in a bin full of other ones since who knows when. He didn't have much to do, a Saturday morning, his friends are probably still sleeping. He was once threatened to not wake them up at least before midday. They were like that--yeah them Niall and Liam. They are your sappy lovers, you'd think they're trying to copy it off from some film or a cheesy romance novel. Louis wouldn't mind, he never does. So, he kept walking, and walking, with no necessary direction. He didn't have any idea of where he's going to go, but, when does he? 

 

-o-

 

His body was tense, to the point his extremities ached. His teeth felt like they were pushed all the way up to his brain and his lip was drawing blood, he could tell from the metallic flavour it produced in his tongue. He was sweaty as well, even though he was shaking from the cold. 

 

He's had one of those dreams again. 

 

Each and every one very familiar to Harry.

 

How is it this cold for the start of November? He thought, warily and with heavy drowsiness. 

 

He got up nonetheless, he thought each and every one of his joints would ache from all the pressure he applied unconsciously, then he quickly bolted into the bathroom. Effectively his bottom lip was trickling blood from the centre of it, it was sore and pinkish. His eyes were still adjusting to the piercing light of the restroom. 

 

He remembers so little of the dream, but he still feels every bit of emotion that coursed through him that night. Adrenaline, fear, anxiety, sadness, but especially fear. It was a swirl of familiar and undiscovered emotions; they've been happening too often to call it a simple nightmare and move on. He often remembers the worst part of each one, the one's he's dreading to forget. They all had to do with Gemma, or his Mum--surprisingly so. He's gotten so anxious his body would just tense itself up until he woke up from all the pain the tension of his body produced. He sometimes felt his teeth pierced through his mouth, to the point where the single act of moving his mouth causes him pain. He doesn't mind how often it happens, he just minds the way it happens, and the consequences afterward. His arms had rows after rows of irregular red slash marks, and some cresent markings here and there, they didn't hurt, but it didn't feel good to think of how he acquired them. 

 

Harry splashed some cold water on his face, and slightly ill lip. In a milisecond he woke up, who knew such a simple thing would bring awareness so quickly like the cold water did. 

 

_Just like the smallest things can give you the worst of feelings_ \--He brushed the thought aside; he needs to focus on something else other than how miserable and hopeless his life would be. He can't write to Louis W. Tomlinson either, he hasn't answered. At this point, the boy with the green eyes doesn't expect him to. 

 

Oh, how wrong he is, but, how can you expect to mantain faith on someone you don't know? How is it that easy to have that certainty that the other person will do anything to make that letter get to it's destination? People like Louis don't like to let the people that need him down, if he does how would he forgive himself? He's the type of person that prefers to help others over himself, losing himself in the process as well. 

 

Then, there's people like Harry, who don't know the meaning of love, but they show the most love to other people. They don't know how many feelings they have for the other person, because they obscure it with all these other things that makes them feel fear over everything; he doesn't even know how much he loves Louis W. Tomlinson, and yet here he is imagining him in every possible beautiful way. Here is Harry Styles-- the boy of nineteen-- loving a person he doesn't even know, and doesn't even know if the other gives a fuck about him back. Yet, here he is, once again, loving every inch of the unseen man of who knows what age. Here he is being the most accurate hopeless romantic you can ever know. But, Harry's just that, and even though they are the most affectionate because they need it so desperately, they just give the broken kind of love. The one nobody wants, the one nobody needs. Louis, however, needs every bit of it.

 

*

 

_Why do you even bother walking over there?_

_Just checking if the letter arrived--_

_You know he doesn't care about you._

_He does!_

_No._

 

His conscience, it felt sometimes like it wasn't even his. He felt like someone decided to get inside him and replace any optimistic thought to a negative one that didn't help him at all. The least Harry could do was walk to the post office and check if there was something in the small cubicle numbered three-hundred and nine. It wasn't a long walk after all, the problem was that everytime he opened the compartment there was nothing, and each time he walked back empty a piece of his heart shattered on the ground. Harry, was used to his heart not being whole, he even wonders--

 

"Watch it, man!" A guy with a dozen grocerie bags shouted coldly at him, he had coal black hair sticking out in sloppy directions and he was merely shorter than him for three inches or so. 

 

"S-sorry, I wasn't paying attention, mate," Harry got down to pick up a bag that fell to the floor, when the guy just shoved him away and, with difficulty picked it up himself. 

 

"You sure as hell weren't!" 

 

Harry just wanted to help. Once again, the man carelessly pushed him aside--gentler this time-- and walked away in a pissed off matter. Harry just kept walking, head low and senses acute this time. He could hear the low whisps of the November breeze, he could see the minuscular pebles getting tossed aside everytime his worn out boots stepped near them. He could hear the gossiping woman talk about his worn out boots, he looked up, they looked back and instantly quieted. Maybe it was the pain or sorrow prominent in his beautifully coloured, emerald green eyes that they kept walking in silence, in shame.

 

He got to the post office by then, zoning out the world with his indifferently loud thoughts, and incoherent theories. There was a man in the front of the building which bid a 'how's the day going for you?' and Harry said 'It's been bearable,' because it has. 

 

_It was a waste of time coming all the way up here, you're not finding but an empty, dark cubicle._

_What do you know?_

_Enough, to not fall in a trap, my friend._

 

 

If only there was a way to mute out the voices in your head, Harry didn't feel like thinking about anything right now, if it were possible to think nothing. He got to cubicle three-hundred and nine, slammed the key in it's slot and twisted the key. 

 

This sense of hope rose in his chest, he felt that today was the day he'd see a white envelope. The thing is that, it's been almost a week, and every time he walked up to the post office, his hope grew. He couldn't even explain the surreal feeling he gets when he opens the cubicle, always hoping he'll find the letter by this man. The key didn't budge at first, but when it did, he found nothing, but an empty, dark cubicle. 

 

_Told you, didn't I?_

 

_Fuck off._

 

Then the voices in his head stopped, they just stopped. Harry only wished they'd stop forever, then it was as if that devilish voice inside of him started laughing, mocking at his impossible request.

 

-o- 

 

"You think I can take the girls out, today?" 

 

"Depends on what you're going to do with them." 

 

" 's not going to be anything out of the ordinary, maybe grab a bite-"

 

"I dunno, Louis," there she goes again. She's always finding an excuse to exclude him from his own siblings. Not once, has she ever said yes so willingly, she has to be drunk to the bone. The thing is, he and his sisters are really close, specially the smallest ones. Even though they're driven apart by their own mum, they still hold an unbelievable connection. 

 

Of course, his mum's trying it to do the opposite; over Louis' dead body. 

 

"Mum, you know what? 'm letting the girls decide what they want to do."

 

"Don't you d-"

 

"See you soon, Jay," He hung up, practically breaking the phone's glass, he was so tired by his mother's jive. There was only one down side, since most of them are small, they greatly admire their parents opnions. It consists of one thing that Jay says that hits them shockingly of him--which can be literally anything she mends up into a lie-- that can drive them apart in two seconds flat. He's kind of scared of that, but he can't show it. He has to be the daunting one here. 

 

He drove over there, all these thoughts swirling in his head, he's been feeling too lonely these days. And, sometimes lonley isn't feeling sad or depressed, but too much loneliness can cause you all of those things. Louis doesn't want that. 

 

Half an hour passed since Louis last talked to his mum, and he finally arrived at his mum's flat. It was a nice, one story house, it was painted the dullest colour possible; beige. Maybe his mum liked the colour, or she was too lazy to paint it another. The garden around it was somethign else, completely. The grass was all perfectly green and cut in the same length making it look uniform. The flower beds were lingering their sweet scent right in the door step when you first stepped foot in the porch. His favourite flowers were the daisies, just because they were the smallest flowers that grow in the most uncommon places. They maybe a cliché flower to like, but they're uncommon in a way, Louis likes uncommon. 

 

Louis knocked three times, at first not receiveing an answer, but later on Felicity answered the door, chirping happily--

 

"Lou! You're home!" She jumped for a bear hug, that Louis easily catched, hugging her tightly. The hug was surprisingly comforting and warm, he needed that. It was surprising how the happiness that they radiated was so powerful, Louis even forgot the original reason for his melancholy reasons. 

 

"Louis!" The other girls screamed, at the same time, but in different tonalities. Johanna was looking at the girls with her hands locked on her hips, tapping her right foot disapprovingly, indifferently. Louis gave a kiss on the forehead to each one, and then got up from his current kneeling position. 

 

There was something wrong with this picture, he'd only said his greeting to two girls; Lottie and Daisy--Felicity being greeted on the door when she answered. 

 

Where was Pheobe? He headed up the stairs to her room ignoring his mum completely, and heard a faint weeping sound. Louis' mind swirled in every way possible.

 

What did my mother do now? I swear If she lays a fing--

 

What Louis saw next was completely uncalled for, he had openened the door to, clearly, find someone weeping, but it was Pheobe, and she was weeping feverishly in a corner. She didn't bother to see who was at the door to her room, but she got scared nevertheless, you could see her trying to disappear in the corner, her crying becoming harder. 

 

"Pheobe, are you alright?" She clearly wasn't, but he has to know what caused her the fit of nerves and tears to well up inside of her at first. 

 

 

"Louis!" His little sister said in a hoarse whisper (she was glad it was him for some reason, maybe thought it was someone else who appeared in the door way other than him) which for Louis it hurt like hell, she was scared beyond comparison, and he hopes the cause wasn't a certain someone. She'd drawn the last line.

 

Pheobe ran to him, hugging him by the waist. Louis hugged her tightly back, kissing the top of her head before encircling her in his arms. The hug was long and reassuring, then his mum calls her, she indubitably knew Louis was up there, but he let him go. 

 

When Pheobe heard her mum's straining voice coming from downstairs, she jerked back, looking at his brother in fear. The tears pooled in the corners of her eyes, and she ran downstairs. 

 

Louis was speechless. . .and mad, specially mad. 

 

Jay knew how close Pheobe was to Louis, and vice versa, but she didn't have to do whatever she did to make his own sister look at him like she has seen the monster under her bed ready to take her because they had forgotten to give her a goodnight kiss. She looked so hurt, and so full of fear that Louis was in utter shock. He couldn't just scream at his mum just when he reaches the last step that lead towards the living room of this cold house. His sisters were still there, and honestly that's all his mum was trying to do. Louis was afraid all his fears were coming true. 

 

*

 

"Mum, what did y--" His mum cut him off, ordering his youngest sisters to go outside to play, and the older ones to supervise as the little ones did so. Then, she motioned a keep going gesture with her hands at the man of twenty-one in front of her. "What did you do to Pheobe?" 

 

"What do you mean, Louis?" She was so calm, with a smirk ghosting on her face, Louis caught it briefly wanting to snatch it of her face the instant she adorned it on her silhouette. 

 

"Don't play stupid games, you know that you did something to her. . . she almost never cries like that!" he wanted to cry himself, the image of her anxious sister came to his mind since she saw her for the first time in that state, he can't bare to see none of his sisters so beaten up like that, beaten up emotionally, "What did you do, to her?" he raised his voice so much, he thought his mum would slap him across the face like that one time. 

 

"She was missbehaving, I had to put some order and inflict some discipline into her" She looked at Louis with the same indifferent eyes as she always saw her oldest son, "She resseambles you so much sometimes, it's almost disapproving."

 

"Why? Because she's making me her role model? You know, Daisy, Lottie and Felicity are doing the same. I'm proud of that, why is that disapproving?" 

 

"I'm perfectly aware that they're looking up to you as their role model, but Pheobe has that dauntless fact about her that it feels like I'm raising another one of you," that's the only thing she's ever done to him, spat things coldly at him, which in all honesty hurt, but right now he wasn't the selfless one here, it was her. It's always been her. 

 

"She's nothing like me! She may try, but she is so different from me, don't you dare give the girls favouritism, she's six! She doesn't deserve any of this, don't you understand? She's supossed to live her life as care-free as possible until she reaches puberty. And even then, try to shield her from the sadness and depression which her own mum's apparently trying to give to her! It's worked on me, but I'll never let it get to her or the others." He shouted now, a little like a hiss because the girls were too close, he sighed in disbelief adding a sullen smile to his next words, "Who knows what you do when I'm not around." 

 

His mum was silent, he just held back tears of frustration, then thought; All those times were I could've been there. . . I had no knowledge of this happening! Mostly the hatred that he felt was to himself, because maybe he could've been a better brother, he should've never left. These few seconds before his mum spoke were so analytical that he knew that he left for his own benefit, he was a self-centred boy graduating highschool by then, he's changed. Still. 

 

 

"Leave, now."

 

"Not without the girls, I might stay with them this weekend, after all they do need bonding with me, and less time with you." 

 

She opened her mouth, but the cold words she might've said disappeared, inside, Louis was greatful for that. 

 

"You can't say anything can you? Did everything I say hurt you inside?" Her mum just stared, eyes widen the slightest bit, "Good." Louis opened the door to the front porch and bellowed something in a fair tone, "Girls! Go pack your bags, you're staying the weekend with me!" 

 

In the short distance he could hear joyful laughs and optimistic remarks at all they wanted to do at Louis' flat. Except one; Pheobe. He swore he heard a shuddered cry escape her slightly frowned lips, she hid it better than Louis, at least enough for her sisters to never notice. He looked at her with his blue eyes and she met his, she smiled a little, she was excited to go with him, he could tell-- there was something else, though, something Louis needed to fix. For now, he tried to remember how many inflatable beds they have in their attic, he hoped they had enough, because Louis couldn't afford two. 

 

-o-

 

"Oi, mate, you come here quite often, yeah? Expecting something big?"

 

"You could say so" Harry tightened his grip on the inside of he pocket of his jacket, once again he set off and hoped he'd find a letter. His face was gloomy and sad, but the man seemed nice so he smiled at him when he set off to his cubicle, it was a fair smile. 

 

_I'm surprised you can run so long on false hope, he's not going to answer back. Why would you send a letter to a stranger in the first place? Stupid, stupid decisions._

_You know what? You maybe inside my head, so you may know that sometimes false hope can do great things for people who are desperate for it. My hope ran out a long time ago, I'm still going to check up on the empty cubicle, I have a feeling. . ._

_You had that same feeling last week, too._

_Shut up._

His thoughts were worsening, but he was somewhat tired of them, he always had. You know, It's been two weeks and a half and Harry has still gotten up from his bed, and did the daily trip to the post office, because there was something about the name. Funny thing is, he's afraid he'll never forget about this man, and he'll never stop saying his full name over and over in his head like a hypnotizing trance. 

 

Cubicle three-hundred and nine, he was standing in front of it, and many other ones. Hope--or maybe the little false hope he carried in his heart--rose and fell with every breath he took. He could swear that he was shaking, but never of fear. Although there was always his conscience to deal with, he brushed it off this once as he opened the cubicle. 

 

There it was. . .Louis W. Tomlinson's letter, it was really there. 

 

Harry had to touch it to see if it was real, he could not believe it, he read the address over and over again, making sure it was clearly addressed for him. 

 

He couldn't stop smiling, every elated emotion emerged from the dusty corner in his mind he forgot he had, he hadn't smiled in so long, and as genuine as this. Harry was so bewildered he could just-- 

 

_Told you he would mail sooner or later!_

The voice that normally resurfaces during moments like these (and it had before) had muted out completely, as if in shame. Harry couldn't ask for a better moment than this. 

 

His broad smile radiated from him, he slammed the cubicle closed, through his excitement he ran out of the place. Later, abruptly stopped, sudden fear enclosed him. 

 

He was uncertain about something, about reading the goddamn letter. Why? 

 

* 

 

He intently looked at the beautifully hand-written letter in his hands, he was half way from his house walking in a normal pace. At least to Harry it was a pretty sloppy cursive, unlike his own. 

 

He got practically mesmerised in a trance at how Louis W. Tomlinson wrote his name right in black heavy ink. Then, he remembered the encounter with the man with the grocery bags and instantly looked up. Holding the letter in a loose grip. Harry held his jacket tighter with the hand where none of his correspondences were, walking agitated all of a sudden, getting cold to the bone. A strong gust of wind passed right behind Harry's back, which caused him to shi-- 

 

The letter he had flew out of his loose grip, mumbling incoherent cussing as he ran to grasp it. He can't bare losing that, it was like losing the guy he subconsciously loved, and that hit him hard. 

 

The piece of paper then shot down, after making incoherent loops in the high air, which not even a man as tall as Harry could reach. He ran as fast as it could before it landed in a puddle of water from a few minutes back, when water soiled the town of Holmes Chapel. 

 

"From everything that could've happened. You had to land in the puddle!" He shouted at the piece of paper as if it had a mind of his own, the only reason he did so was out of frustration. He gained weird looks, which at this point he gave up in caring. 

 

"At least you didn't lose it, or it didn't soak too heavily," a girl with velvety ginger hair and a bunch of freckles said to him passing by, "'m just sayin' it could've been worse, 'fter all it's just a letter. . . some rubbish from the bank, yeah?" 

 

She seemed to be overly confident and sociable at this point, Harry couldn't quite hold her eye contact, looking down ever so often. He gave a reclutant answer, using his driest voice un-intentionally. 

 

"It's from a friend, not some piece of rubbish." 

 

The girl, looked at him, "Sorry, I didn't know! I tried to cheer you up, mate!" 

 

"'S alright, love, see you," he didn't know who she was or how she could develop talking to someone so naturally, but not even knowing his name. 

 

So many people's eyes get caught at the sight of Harry, and that's the least people like him want whenever he goes out. 

 

-o- 

 

All the while Louis was handling his four sisters, putting each one too bed (maybe an hour passed regular curfew) he couldn't stop thinking about this Harry. How he only knew his name and how anonymous he was really to the brunette. 

 

_How can you really think so much about a person you haven't even met?_ , Louis thought, because, honestly, he didn't know if this was possible. 

 

-o- 

 

Harry remembers sending a letter, which he really hoped the man on the other side might read, but now he regretted everything about it. 

 

He's realising something, something impossible. He just can't tell for sure, because he's been called a fool many times--and when it came to love-- but in his head was a monotonous chant, because he was, in fact, _a fool_. 

 

He stared at the letter, looking at it his hands ready to tear the envelope open and read whatever message it contained, his mind said other wise. 

 

Then, his hands opened the envelope, acquiring a mind of his own (he was grateful for this in moments like these sometimes). 

 

His green, expressionless eyes scanned the paper, and the words in it, one by one: 

 

_Dear Harry:_

_Since we're introducing ourselves first, I might as well. . ._

_The names Louis W. Tomlinson, the W stands for William. My biography is kind of all over the place, and not that far from yours, I do have my cigarettes to keep me at ease, though. I'm twenty-one, and I live in a battered apartment--all alone. I'm not good at giving advice or write in straight lines in blanked paper, I apologise._

_Can you even read this? My handwriting is kind of sloppy sometimes._

_Despite of all, let me just say your heart chose the worst person to help you get advice, let alone help. And, you my friend, have it difficult._

_Before you stop reading this, because, honestly I'm nervous of what you're thinking of me at this point, I just want you to know that I won't give you the best advice in the world. But I will. Harry, you are a very broken person emotionally, but I can relate, because I'm losing four of my sisters, I may not know what you feel exactly. At least I'll know a great chunk of what you feel, mate. But. . . Everybody's bendable, right?_

_I dunno why, but my heart told me you made the worst decision in your life, yet, here I am ignoring it. Ignoring my heart and my mind, who usually disagree on everything and writing with my feelings, because it's hard, what you're going through. You see, I may be just as broken as you, but sometimes that's the kind of help we need; the broken kind._

_Gemma, she's your sister, yeah? I'm so sorry life had to choose the worst way to take her from you, but you have to try and forget her. Forget her, in the sense of forgetting her dead in your arms, but all those times she's made you laugh or vice versa. You know? Try and smile from time to time reminiscing on the good memories. Not the one's that haunt you every night._

_I have four sisters, I know how it must feel inside you, to lose someone you love. Because, the people you love is something you need, without them you just have nothing. You're left with utter loneliness, and that sucks, I should know._

_You have to stay strong, because, before you came along I was nothing, and right now I feel that I need to be there for you, need to help you through this. I don't want to lose you, as weird as it sounds because if I did, I wouldn't survive this. Even though we just met through words, but sometimes words tell a lot from someone. How they project their feelings and how they use their creativity to convey all those things you can say in three-thousand words, but only use three._

_Anyways, my sister's names are Pheobe, Daisy, Lottie, and Felicity. Those are the one's that I couldn't live without, and I'm fighting hard not to let my mum take them away from me. A big part of me will die if that ever happens. Such sweet girls, and I just still can't imagine how you must feel after losing someone, that you loved in every way, from what I know. You're going to get through this, okay? Even if I have to come find you, because even if we haven't met enough for me to say all these things everyone's a stranger until they open up their life to one another, and I think you did just that as I hope to be doing in this reply letter._

_Again, I'm ignoring my heart and mind, letting my hand shot down my honest feelings and vain promises. I'm going to try and keep every single one, I can't bear to lose more people than I'm about to._

_My heart is saying how foolish I am to be writing to you Harry, and here I am ignoring it again, because somehow I feel you're a person that's not worth losing._

_Sincerely,_

_Louis._

_Ps: You can call me Louis, or Lou, no need to call me by my full name anymore, yeah? :)_

 

What he dreaded to conclude before opening the letter was true, and he was afraid. 

 

He'd fallen in love with Louis' words, the whole letter, sweet and reassuring. How he wrote everything in perfect hand-writing even though he mentioned it was sloppy, how he evaded from every topic, but got right to it so quickly after saying all those things that hit you deeply in the gut. All these things he discovered about Louis (Harry's gotten the guts to call him by his first name, maybe because Louis stated it in the Ps. Note, he smiled at this, a real smile). 

 

He had fallen in love with Louis, his way with _words_ at most, and that was a start that may go both ways. 

 

-o- 

 

"Louis, 'm scared" Pheobe. 

 

"About what, darling? Had nightmares?" 

 

She nodded feebly, trying to stop her hyperventilating at her sudden outburst of cries, "About mummy." 

 

At that, Louis felt a knot in his stomach. _She's just six._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Leave some feedback, it helps me greatly! I'll love you forever. Thanks for reading! -A


	5. His lovely stranger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiii guys, oh my god I just want to say thank you for all the reads. I'm so happy that I'm about to get 1k reads ( I've never had 1k reads before ok). So, I'm actually very excited with this one, I hope you like it. -A x

It's almost been a month since Harry's sent the first letter to Louis, which brought a lot of controversy concerning the response letter by the man of twenty-one. He still remembers how foolish he was when he thought he'd never get a reply back. Going for a daily trip to the post office, to cubicle three-hundred and nine.

He still is, waiting for the letters that never cease to stop arriving, and Harry's heart flutters in his chest everytime he sees the lazy cursive of Louis. They've gotten to know each other more--

_He's still a stranger, you don't have the slightest idea of who he is...he's just a stranger, one you're opening your life to._

_So? I trust him, he's my lovely stranger._

The voices in his head are worse than ever, questioning or criticising anything he does. (Let's go out and-- _nope, you're too sad to go out right now._ That guy seems so nice, let me try and--- _What? Do you really want to make a fool of yourself? Don't bother, you'll know he won't like you.)_ Stuff like that riled him up and tied him to his depression _._ At one point where Harry just wanted to see if he could hit his head hard enough to make them stop. If it were possible, he'd even say that voice is starting to resemble his in a way, and that tips him off even more.  _What if that once devilish voice was my own all along?_ Maybe it was, but that voice in his head, it's becoming more. . . _human_.

His name is Louis  _William_ Tomlinson, he's twenty-one, not a writer, he smokes, his birthday is on Christmas eve, and he had a springy couch that he uses more than his bed. The boy with the curls remembered every detail, from the most important to the most meaningless. The way he described himself you would say he's your average brunette, but for Harry, Louis was the most amazing guy he's ever imagined.

_Dear Harry,_

_How have you been feeling this past week? Haven't heard of you in quite a while. Should I be worried, or not?_

_Sincerely, Louis._

_Ps: Send me a response as soon as possible. I'll drive over there if you don't._

Harry's first intention was to not answer, wanted to see Louis almost right away. Feeling so attached, but, then again, so far away. It made him feel worthless, not being able to see someone he needed so much to see. He needed to touch his face, see his eyes, kiss his lips...

At nights, he's sad, or in love, and he doesn't know which one hurts more anymore.

*

Determined, he went into the abandoned alleyway. Went to the only building that was still in perfect conditions--if you excluded the worn out paint and the broken windows. Harry went up the steps one by one, still wondering why he walked up to this part of the city, until he got to the very top where the roof was. When he opened the latched door he looked around. The outline of Holmes Chapel could be seen in extravagant detail, tons and tons of kaleidoscopic buildings--big, small, red, yellow--the horizon was clear and yellowing, as the sunset could be seen approaching it's connecting point with it. Maybe what he liked about this building was that it was so secluded, so alone. He kept walking in what seemed a tortoise pace, but kept walking straight forward nonetheless.

He was heading towards the edge.

Nothing that he's ever seen before. Such a worn out, and different view, with a un-poetical perspective that made you want to hold your breath, mesmerised. Trees outlined as far away as possible, a mountain or two almost invisble from where he was.

"You going to jump or somethin'?"

Harry, turned around, then gasped remembering that if he gave just one more step he'd fall for his death, he threw himself to the opposite side where the abundant concrete floor was and looked around, he saw nothing but old air conditioning vents and such.

"Who's there?"

"What? You can't see me?" the person, being a guy, judging by the voice laughed a bit. He continued, "Let me introduce m'self. The name's Zayn, Zayn Malik. You are...?"

The guy stepped out from a corner, he was sitting down, Harry could recall. Still with eyes wide he answered in an awful stammer: "H-h..h-arry Styl-styles"

Zayn, shoved his hands at the back of his pant pockets, Harry noticing he had a cigarette hanging from his mouth. The bud of it was glowing a burning orange, the smoke was coming out from the coal black haired man. That straight out reminded Harry of Louis,  _his_  Louis.

"Many people have commited suicide here, you know? Quite the tragedy."

"Uh--"

"Not a talker are you? I can tell, you seem nervous as hell, mate." He took his cigarette out with his right hand, letting another long puff of smoke out through his lips. Harry stared at him, almost gawking.

_How can people be this bloody confident?_

"Have you ever witnessed one?" Harry blurted out, not meaning his voice to shake like that. It's been so long since he's actually met someone  _physically._ The sun was out of sight now, the stars arranging in their usual places, showing off their glow now.

"Well, maybe once or twice. Now yours, I suppose," Zayn raised an eyebrow at him, as a mother would do at his disappointing son.

"I wasn't going to commit suicide!"

"You don't deliberately commit suicide, you know? Sometimes you can't help the feeling of not opening your eyes ever again, feeling like flying--something little kids wish to do in their time. Especially when nothing's holding you back--feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins, the tension of being up here. Hell, even with pills you feel something similar! It's just that falling is almost painless, falling is like flying. Everyone wants to do it sometime, why not someday?"

Harry looks up to the guy in front of him, "There  _is_  something holding me back."

"What is it, then?"

"Love."

-o-

"Louis...lou...louiiis" he let out a heavy groan, instantly recognised the voice and he was instantly awake. Pheobe.

"What's wrong, princess?"

"C-could I-I sleep with you?"

"Another nightmare?"

She just nodded her head. The room was cold, and she was slightly trembling--hopefully about how cold it is in the living room. The other girls are as still as rocks, Daisy snoring lightly, making Louis smile. The curtains where as still as the girls, it was close to three in the morning if Louis saw right, his glasses were somewhere around here.

"You sure you don't want me to go down on the inflatable bed with you?"

"I want to sleep with you on this couch, it looks comfy and nice, is it Lou, is it?" Louis wanted to hug her so tight--

_It feels like I'm raising another one of you._

He hauled her up and gave her some space, it was a spacious couch after all.

"Now, want to talk about your dream?"

"Louis, it was mummy, I--she was the monster under my bed!" She almost sobbed loud enough to wake the others; her trembling quickened. Louis held her tight, trying to see if his warm body heated hers. He can't bear seeing his little Pheobe like that.

_Why her, Johanna! Why?_

In the freezing living room, Louis shared the small blanket. In the end, he gave it all to her little sister, he wasn't as cold as her. He sure was just as sad.

-o-

Since seventh grade, it's the first time Harry actually got a friend he likes. Zayn's an awesome bloke, sarcastic at times, and basically understands sadness as any other. It took time for Harry to get out of his comfort zone, partly because Zayn can be so confident it's almos jaw-dropping:

_Let's go talk to them over there, they seem to carry the good ones._

_Zayn! No, are you crazy?_

_What? It's just cigarettes...Hey you two! Can I have them cigarettes? Two ple--_

In the end, they had to run because he was so confident he thought the menacing men would let him actually take them without paying them first. Harry laughs a bit at it now.

Harry's got himself a new friend. At least that's what he thinks. Maybe Zayn just doesn't want to hurt his feelings on how annoying he is, or something--

_Zayn doesn't like you, you're too pathetic to be anyone's friend, you know that?_

_God, that makes you pathetic as well!_

_I'm not the one making friends here._

Harry held his knees tight to his chest while he decided what to write in reply of Louis' letter. In the end of all the speculation he wrote back:

_Dear Louis,_

_I'm okay? I've never been okay in along time, so I dunno. I know I'm not that bad. I met someone the other day, Lou! His name's Zayn, I met him when I was at the edge of a rooftop. He smokes just like you, but you're pretti--_

Harry erases that last part, feeling kind of stupid to write that, even though he really thought that was true (pretty in his mind, he's never actually seen the guy before, yet) and wrote another completely different sentence:

_Dear Louis,_

_I'm okay? I've never been okay in along time, so I dunno. I know I'm not that bad. I met someone the other day, Lou! His name's Zayn, I met him when I was at the edge of a rooftop. He smokes just like you, we almost got mugged the other day._

_Yours, Harry_

_Ps: I should've not answered to make you come over. xx_

He closed the envelope, and put it in his bag to send it the next day.

It's almost midnight; his mum barges into his room crying and screaming. It all happens in a blur, but all Harry knows is that she was very drunk and reminiscing on Gemma which she lost thanks to her son. When she realises what she does she instantly goes sober (if that's even possible) and starts to mumble multiple apologies. Harry isn't listening, because the voices in his head get louder, and it feels like his mind decided to disconnect his ears and not his concience. He was entering a panic attack when he pushed his mum out of his room, surprisingly delicate, and closed the door, lock and all. He was scared he could do something utterly regretful in this state. He didn't want to do anything stupid; he just lay there in his bed...

And cried until--he concluded-- there was no more tears to shed.

*

"Harry! Nice to see you again, mate."

"Hi, George." He was the post office manager, he takes his job so seriously (or he loves it obscenely a lot) that he's never taken a day off. He's been able to have a small talk with the nineteen year old, but no more after that.

It's a nice little post office, the cubicles neatly aligned one next to the other, the different delivery bins labeled, and as always, recollected. The place was empty, and the walls were dull, but I guess almost nobody sends letters anymore, just the ones who still believe in writing.

Harry reaches the bin where he always threw his letters in, somehow the letter delivered faster, and Harry thought it had something to do with that George guy. Secretly, Harry was utterly grateful. He, then walked over cubicle three-hundred and nine and opened it. Mostly spam, or bank warnings to his mum; no letter. Harry knew, since Louis was waiting for  _him_ , but since what happened last night he needed some type of comfort.

A pang of sadness coated him over the previous layers of it, because he started to realise he's starting to want more than letters from Louis, he wanted to touch his face. He wanted to kiss his sweet lips--at least that's how Harry imagines Louis' lips to be, he imagines his lips a lot-- to see his beautiful eyes and pearly white smile. He wanted Louis to hold him in his arms and maybe the other way around, because Louis also has problems, and they also have to do with his sisters.

He wanted to see the boy he's fallen so deeply in love with in a matter of weeks, he wants to trace his hand with one of his fingers. Kiss each of his tattoos (which Louis loves to talk about in depth, something Harry kinda likes--no, loves about him) and tell him that he's the whole reason he's still alive. And, all because of curiosity, because he's beginning to have hope that everything actually  _can_ be alright _._ He just needs Louis to validate that.

Harry loves Louis in every way, yet isn't Louis just a stranger?

 _No,_ Harry thinks,  _He's become much more than that._

_-o-_

Lately, Louis hasn't been able to stop messaging the boy who had enough courage to seek for someone like Louis for help. By what Harry's written in the well-composed letters, he's been doing okay, or so that's what he's portraying in them. The letter he got just today--unlike Harry, he has his own cubicle right at the first floor of his apartment building--says that he met a pretty nice bloke called Zayn. Don't get Louis wrong, he's happy for him, but he doesn't know why he's been feeling this wave of jealousy deep down inside him.

What worries him more, is that he met him at the  _edge_  of a rooftop, and they almost got  _mugged_ the other day. He was thinking about all of these things. Louis was currently driving in his car, hands in their designed positions, and three little girls in the back. Lottie was in front, earbuds popped into each of her ears, the music on it's highest volume. It amazed how alone someone like Lottie can really be, so he tapped her in the shoulder--occasionally he glanced back to see if the girls were alright.

"Hmm?"

"Did you like to...um, hang out with me?"

Lottie smiled, that smile that could win any guy in a heart beat, "Of course, Lou. Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I dunno, you seem pretty excluded from us whenever we did something" Louis blinks and rephrases that in a second, "I mean, at times you just stepped back to being invisible..."

Now, her pearly white smile was replaced with a tight lipped, serious look. She almost frowned, her pinkish lips disappearing in her face for a second.

"I just--I'm so used to being with mum, that from the moment she wakes up to the moment where she closes her eyes I feel like I should linger in the shadows, be invisible, you know?"

Louis did know and nodded, looking firmly at the road, he once thought that as well. In the end, it always brought on trouble. Not in the sense of conduct, but emotionally. The traffic starts to pile up, and there's a heavy traffic jam. The cars were honking in the distance, disturbing the afternoon sky. Men and women banged their hands against the car steering wheels, obviously knowing they will be running late to work.

He glanced at his sister now, the other girls asleep in the backseats now.

"Don't do that, just do it when it's really necessary, you know?"

"Louis, you don't know what it's li--"

She wasn't making matters easier, Louis was already pissed. Lottie thinks he doesn't understand, and maybe they're just teenage hormones. She really needs to understand that Louis went through all of this, and he does know, he really does.

"The other day, mum came back arguing about how bloody awful her work was...she forgot Felicity's birthday!" She looked at him with a saddened expression now.

Lottie's brother reaches out his arm and takes out a strand of hair that was right in the centre of her face. He smiled at her, she reciprocated the action. The smiles were somewhat not there, kind of sore and meaningless.

"What did you do?"

"I went and bought her a cupcake, with some money we found around the house."

"Can you tell me exactly what happened? From start to end?"

And, Lottie said. Every detail exposed now.

"It was a normal day--in our daily routines, obviously it was a special day--and we were heading to school and such. Felicity went on alert and happy, when mum just looked at her with a half asleep, blank expression she froze and her attitude dropped by the second. It was a nice, day, specially for a girl who would be turning eleven. I told her that she shouldn't worry, because something was going to happen this afternoon," she looked straight at the road, just in the direction Louis was. His face was expressionless but reflective, furious but sad. She continued: "We all got in the buses for school and left. Right after school ended, I reminded myself I had to make something for her. I started walking towards the city--you know that bakery in the centre of the little plaza? There. Bought her a small cake; I had to use all my month's money worth and celebrated her birthday. We did so right after mum went to sleep."

She will always be a better role-model to the girls, and Louis knew it. He didn't know it if was because they were all girls and he was the only boy, but he also thought it didn't matter. It should be the other way around and Louis not being able to give that certain protection from pain is something that is thawing at his heart. Going through all the old memories, he doesn't remember once where he used basically all of his months saving for one of this sisters because, in those times Johanna never forgot any of the girls birthdays. Louis, well, birthdays never mattered to him (if he tells you that, he's lying) because he always thought getting older just adds more weight to your shoulders even though you have all the freedom in the world.

Like, being a caged bird all your life and when they finally free you, you just fly long enough to find another cage where you think you'll feel safe, when, in the end you'll feel more enslaved than the last one.

"You are something Lottie, I love you so, so much." She smiled at Louis, and Louis just smiled with his lips sealed tight. He was afraid that if he spoke another word his voice would crack, that of like a broken mirror and all the shards splayed around it.

It was a silent car ride, loud with thousands of emotions.

*

He left the girls with a grudge at his mum's house, and she just looked at him as if he was a complete stranger toying with her children every other day.

"I don't suppose I'll be seeing you in a couple of months, right?"

"Are you kidding, Johanna? After what you've done with them? Not a chance, you'll see me every week _end,"_  Louis gave her the fakest smile he could muster. The woman infront of him wouldn't even let him breathe any air that came out of her house, and that's just metaphorically. She kept him still in front of the doorway, and the girls didn't dare get near it, reading--possibly--their mother's mind. The flowers on the porch were once beautiful, and now they are withered and dried up. Louis wonders why she's kept them so unattended, and for one thing he's sure of, Johanna loves her flowers.

"Louis, this afternoon I received a voicemail on the house's phone..." Louis shrugged his shoulders, but kept listening none the less, it wasn't like he was in the mood to put up with his mum's gossiping.

"It was really unecessary, so I just wanted to say thank you for brining the girls a little later than usual, the guy actually thought this was your cell number." She smiled, knowing. She ignored Louis' earlier action, just the same way with the remark.

"You  _what?"_  There was a tinge of anxiousness in his whole body, his heart racing.  _Maybe just maybe._

"Mum! Who was that guy?" He sounded more despererate than angry, he didn't want to give his mum the power over him with this.

She just smiled, closed the door and started to walk away.

"JOHANNA YOU CAN'T DO THIS TO ME NOW!" He shouted loud enough so the whole neighbourhood could hear.

The sky was turning dark now.

"Oh, fuck you." Louis whispered walking to his car.

*

When he got to his flat, he opened the door in a horrible rush and splayed himself in his couch, then sobbed.

He sobbed out of frustration; all because he can't be good enough. This feeling in your chest that makes you feel trapped, these thoughts of not being good enough for anyone, not even for those who needed him the most.

His mind instantly thought of Harry, the only one that Louis can say he can love without boundaries. The way he writes his letters in a neat cursive, nothing like Louis'. He hasn't seen him yet, but he feels he's talking to him face to face every time he reads one of those letters.

He's got it worse, but he's one of those people--Louis thinks--that can love unconditionally, that can provide what Louis needs, and vice versa. He just wishes to have him right here and right now, because he doesn't even imagine a life without that one stranger. He feels like he's fallen so deeply in love with a stranger, that is almost insane.

But we do crazy things when we're in love.

Louis wants to see Harry, he  _needs_  to see Harry. Yet, another side of his mind kept pondering inside him, how this may all be an act, how there may not be a depressed Harry Styles out there in Holmes Chapel, Cheshire. Louis has hope, in the end that's all he needs. He's been blinded by love in the gigantic maze of suffering, and he doesn't even know how to find the exit at this point.

The next day, he rushed down the stairs, with no excitement of the sort, because he was just emotionally tired. Opened the cubicle where his directory arrived in, and saw the letter, that hopeful letter that kept both of them going.

He read. He wrote. He sent. He waited...and waited, with nothing but a heavy heart in his chest.

-o-

"Mate! How's it going for you, Harry?" Zayn asked as casually as ever, at the top of the rooftops where they'd normally hang out in. They've had a lot of bonding over the past few days, consisting mostly in different topics of conversation. What Harry liked about Zayn was that he never left a gap where an awkward conversation might slip in, in the matter of seconds. He talks about everything and anything.

"It's okay, I guess, you?" Harry said dismayed at the tone of Zayn's voice coming from behind him. He hasn't been feeling all that okay in days anymore. It feels like he's retracting his steps back into the deepening sea of depression, and no _thing_  or no  _one_ might be able to get him out, unless he kissed the sweet lips he loves to think about so much, he wants those lips to comfort him and kiss each of his tears as he cries in his sleep. Because that's the kind of love he wants, and he's prepared to give Louis his everything to try and make him happy as well.

"Great! I made a bargain with the fuckin' mugglers down the street. Got the good stuff. Want to try?"

_Say yes, it'll help you._

_You're kidding, I'm not getting myself addicted to cigarettes._

_I'm you talking in your mind remember? I know what's good for you._

_Oh really?_

_Yes, now shut up and get it, it won't be so bad. Just maybe a horrible sensation at first. Then...You'll be floating like the clouds._

"I dunno how to smoke, Zayn," Harry said in a sheepish tone, he didn't know why, though. This wasn't something to be embarrassed about.

Harry went closer to the guy with the coal black hair and the already lit cigarette between his lips, he nodded towards him and lit up one for his friend. He took out his own from his mouth, and told him to just inhale and exhale. Harry tried to do what he said and merely succeeded. He coughed his ass out, his face gaining a red tinge as he did so.

"Never. Again. Zayn." Zayn shrugged and said something a long the lines of, "You get used to it after a while."

After half an hour of talking up there in the rooftops, Zayn's eyes perked up, they lit up brighter than the afternoon sun waiting for the moon to outshine her. Harry didn't know if it was that he ran out of his normal cigarettes or that he had an awful idea.

"I want to see your house."

"Shit."

*

"Why my house? Can't we go to yours, Zayn? After all, your parents seem bloody rich!" The moon won it's daily battle with the sun now, and the stars were aligned perfectly in their same places. As if the stars were completely grateful of the same spot in the universe for thousands of years. Maybe they were, but Harry never saw the logic of it.

"Harry, my parents are always home." He blandly spat out.

"What makes you think my mum's not home?"

"She isn't is she?"

"Fine!" Harry threw his hands up into the air, giving up. What he would've given to clean his room this morning--

"Great! I bet your room is so interesting, though."

"You're so stereo typically gay"

"Like you aren't," Harry smiled at him, and they both laughed together. They walked, Zayn's feet following the other's pair until they reached Harry's house. As they entered the plaza, scarce people walked around holding hands or just plain out walking next to each other. The moon wasn't as bright as it normally would be, but it was bright enough to make out unknown faces, except Zayn's.

A few blocks later, Harry was a laughing mess, Zayn was funny when he wanted to. That made Harry think he may be back to being okay for a while longer, he can't remember the last time he heard his laugh. The last time his stomach hurt from all the laughing.

"We're here, I guess."

"YAY!" Zayn shrieked, in a way that made Harry laugh in unison with Zayn.

Maybe trusting people isn't as bad as he thought it would be. But, god, his legs felt like jell-o, and don't even mention the knots in his stomach.

-o-

Harry Edward Styles.

That name Louis can't forget, possibly because he's the only one he's been solemnly in love with. His face must be the most perfect complexion he will ever lay eyes on, his eyes must be the rarest of colours when he saw them in person. God, he must be as beautiful as his words are.

He can just imagine his hands wrapped up with his, Harry's thumb grazing each one of his knuckles because his hands were extremely larger than his, but made just for Louis to rest his own hands in. Like pieces of a puzzle. Maybe his lips are the softest colour of pink...god his lips. Louis just imagines their bodies pressed up against each other, like both of them have longed for some time now, even though they've never discussed it. All of these things makes him forget about the things screwing up his life; is it so hard to spend time with your sisters?

It feels like he's lost a part of his life, his heart broke in two and a half stayed with the girls back at their house. The other half stayed with Harry, even though it could be the most idiotic decision he's ever done. That leaves the boy of twenty-one feeling empty, it's the most depressing thing ever. It's the complete opposite of a heavy heart, but the feelings are just the same, though. That feeling of your chest being ripped open and stayed like that, that aching is still there.

But thinking of Harry made it all vanish. It made Louis think about that letter he sent not so long ago--

_Dear Harry,_

_Unrequited love; write to me about unrequited love._

_Louis._

He doesn't have the slightest idea what came over him when he wrote that small sentence in reply. He was--is--still kind of jealous of that guy back where Harry is. He feels hopeless, because what if since he already has someone who can hold him whenever he falls down, he just stops writing letters, stop writing to Louis. He'd be nothing.

Because all of him, loves all of Harry.

It all depends on how he answers that letter, that Louis will know. He just will, and Louis is so exasperated that he hasn't gone out of his flat in days. He hasn't called anyone in days, or gotten out of his couch. He doesn't see why he should. He's presumably depressed, depressed over a stranger he depends on so much.

-o-

"God Harry, this room his so much tidier than mine..."

"Zayn, it's messy, I'm so embarrassed over you coming over because it's such a mess, I--"

"Shut up, pretty boy." Harry shut up, and watched the exposed letters on his desk, made a swift movement in front of them to block Zayn's view from his small desk. He felt that Louis' letter were meant for Harry's eyes only, naturally very jealous of them. It may seem weird, but Louis' letters carry his smell, and he's afraid of anyone else touching them because it loses the little thing Harry has about Louis. "Harry, you have the cutest underwear!"

"ZAYN!" Harry widened his eyes in utter perplexity seeing the trail of clothes that adorned his room floor in a careless matter at the time.

"Harry, I'm kidding, I find amusing embarrasing you, but damn..those marvel boxers can win any guy any day."

"Ugh." Harry grunted with only one thought in mind, walked all the way to the small hill of dirty clothes and threw them in the clothes bin. With Zayn snickering in the background, a satisfied smirk adorning his face.

He was seated in his desk chair, Zayn's back facing him, and Harry's world went crashing down. He was reading the letters.

"Zayn! No! Don't--" Harry's mind went in a spiral of insanity for a few minutes. His body refused to move so he just stood there, useless to snatch them out of his hand.

Zayn, being the asshole he is ignored Harry's desperate cries to not read the letters: "Louis W. Tomlinson?"

"Zayn stop reading them!"

"I know a Louis Tomlinson; from Doncaster, right?"

"Oh my god."

"I'll take that as a yes."

In that moment he hasn't loved an asshole like Zayn so much in his life; he has a shot, a door has finally opened to see his Louis. He can run away from his problems and kiss his face to make sure he's real.

_Your Louis, eh?...Is he?_

_Yes!_

_You don't even know that._

_I know enough. He's my lovely stranger, remember?_

_In your pathetic mind he is._

_Exactly._

_*_

After the guy that was Zayn Malik left Harry's house with a few more boxer jokes, he told Harry that it was a long time ago. He apparently went to university with Louis once, but dropped out and got accepted into art school a year or two later. That means he has no contact what so ever, he does have a cell phone number, but he doubted it'll work.

Effectively, it didn't. Instead it went to voicemail of a home number.

Harry lay sprawled up in his bed, thinking about how to answer Louis' letter. It was funny how a letter mattered so much to Harry, and Louis' opinion mattered the most. He put so much work into those letters it was almost all the hard work he's done in his life that really mattered. 

The bedroom roof was plain white, as well as the once white walls that turned grey as the time passed. Except the one where all of those pictures lay taped one next to the other. Most of those pictures were of Gemma and even his dad (which he hasn't seen in so long now). He missed having a family, a complete family who'd go out on picnics and do vacation trips. It made Harry extremely sad to think that he lost the only one he could share everything with. He remembers her, just as if she only left for college and she would come back on Christmas Day. This year, he'll be with his drunken mum in a table too big for two. Before he would keep over thinking about everything he put everything aside but the short sentence Louis wrote. The paper seemed as if it got wet and it dried up as the days passed, which made Harry think of the worst possibilities that Louis isn't doing good at all. 

Then, the boy with the indent curls, and pale skin started writing. Ten minutes later he crumpled up the paper and threw it in the bin, he did so again but this time it took him five minutes to throw it in the bin. He was utterly blocked, his mind wasn't producing the words he needed. He tried again, he threw it away again. 

And again. 

And again. 

At this point Harry groaned furious and held his hair with angry fists. He didn't know what to write on the letters, and that made him scared as well, because if he can't write about unrequited love, he can't write about  _their love--_

"Wait!" Harry beamed, took his pen and wrote just one word. A word that may change both his and Louis' life in two seconds. A word that meant more than any of the words he could ever send to that man of twenty-one.  _The only word._ The one he should've sent from the start. Harry went that same night--

"Hi. Ha--"

"George! D'you think you could send this letter tomorrow morning?" 

"Sure, sure, count on it!" George saluted Harry in a way a soldier may do at his general. Harry reciprocated the gesture. Smiled, and mumbled an excited 'thanks.' 

That may have been the longest conversation with George, Harry's had. And that made him happy. 

-o-

The phone buzzed in the small coffee table Louis purchased at a garage sale once, it fit well with the ambiance of that living room. Louis grunted, he didn't feel like taking the call at all. 

Something inside him told him he should get his ass up and answer that call that might be as important as when Harry sent that letter to him, at first as a stranger. Harry hasn't left Louis' mind, not one second since this odd sadness drowned him. 

He reached for his phone, and glasses next. He gasped a bit when he found out who it was--

His mum. 

"H--hello?" His voice was horse and tired; the other voice on the opposite line didn't hesitate to omit the greeting.  

"It was a guy named Harry Styles, he told you that Zayn was with you in the university, and that he had this phone number but it didn't seem to be working. He said he'd still leave a voicemail, because he loved you too much to risk it." 

Johanna's son's eyes widened as big as large as his eyes let him, it felt like a giant waterfall was falling on him in a pugnant weather. The relief he found, the  _serenity_  he found when he heard--not the voice but what she remembered and who it was. It was time he saw that face for the first time. To meet again as people, and not as words in letters. To fall in love again and again, until they get tired of doing so (he never saw the day he would, anyways). He was going to go over there and see him, he didn't care if he had to go to the edge of the world or be days and days without eating. He didn't care, he was worse off not having Harry by his side already. He can picture it now, Louis' smile gleaming it's natural glow as he ran to Harry's arms, as if they were lovers all along. 

Will he feel the same way? He must...right?

Louis didn't know: " Mum, you saved my life." Then he hung up, getting in the shower and freshening up before heading to the first floor of the buildings to check for more letters. Louis hoped these would be the last ones. 

*

Louis' hair was damp and his shirt was humid as well, he practically sprinted down stairs, jammed the key in the cubicle and when he opened it he saw nothing...

"Damn it, it's back here," Louis swears his heart did a flip inside his chest as he didn't see any letter with Harry's cursive Louis recognises by heart. 

 _I'm going to see the one I love,_ he was opening the letter while he waited for the lift this time, when he read the solitary word there he dropped the letter and stared at the bright red button with the black arrow pointing up, _I'm finally going to see his beautiful curls and green eyes. I bet I'll get lost in them._  

It's curious how sadness can perish from people so quickly, you see the letter gave him that extra boost he needed to pack his bags and leave to look for Harry. 

_I'm coming Harry, you just wait._

The solitary word in that letter was simply;  _ **Us**. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember to give feedback, kudos, or leave something in my tumblr! (www.marceldoeslouis.tumblr.com) I love you all! :)

**Author's Note:**

> I'll update as soon as I can, I hope this gets enough reads too. :) -A x


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